


Wicked Games We Play

by deathwailart



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a noble couple in Orlais with ties to Tevinter by marriage are heavily suspected to have involvement in smuggling elven artifacts, slaves, and supporting the Venatori, Leliana and Morrigan agree to go undercover as lovers due to implications about their closeness, as well as their past relationships.</p><p>Surely as grown women they can be mature about this, and Leliana was a bard after all, what could possibly go wrong, it's not as if feelings will get in the way.</p><p>Written for the femslash big bang April prompt: fake relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

That Morrigan agrees to it at all is perhaps the thing that will be remembered most about the whole affair, even confined as it is to the war room. Inquisitor Beira Adaar has a triumphant smirk aimed at the Iron Bull throughout; clearly she is right about something he is not, and Morrigan has found she possesses a certain measure of, well not _fondness_ , not exactly, for the woman but respect, and a company that she has come to enjoy since she joined the Inquisition at Celene's behest after the events at the Winter Palace. Kieran is certainly rather taken enamoured, happy to be scooped up, made tall when she allows it. Even Leliana for once looks utterly astounded though it is gone in the blink of an eye but Morrigan knew her before the rest of the room did, saw her when she wept after the horrors of the Deep Roads and the Dead Trenches, when she gazed upon the Urn of Sacred Ashes, when she fired an arrow in Marjolaine's heart to strike her dead. And much the same, Leliana knows the truth of Flemeth, of Kieran, of Morrigan's own unhappy life prior to all this. Certain things bring you close and it is why she agreed to such a ruse as was proposed, why it could only be the two of them in the end.  
  
Masquerade as a couple whilst lulling the enemy into a false sense of security for the agents they'll have planted and already have planted. Even Morrigan knows how old a tale that one is.  
  
"We are agreed then?" Leliana asks for the benefit of all present since the discussion has carried on for some time now, back and forth, back and forth, hashing out all the fine details as they lay out the reports across the table and over the map, all parties involved picking it up as they go. "Thanks to the combined efforts of the Inquisition as well as Bull's old Ben-Hassrath contacts, and the combined efforts of both Dorian and his correspondence with Magister Tilani, we have become aware of the Lord Florinus and Lady Cerise Chelekeras of Chateau Patenaude, of the Marchand family. A prominent Orlesian family involved in trading, she married Lord Florinus some years back, quite a scandal at the time with him hailing from Minrathous, hence why the family name is still displayed on all the trading documentation. We have reason to believe that they are involved with the Venatori, far more closely than we would like but after the Winter Palace and Florianne?" Leliana sighs, clucking her tongue before she stops.  
  
Morrigan steps forward, ready to present her own information neatly, clearing her throat. "I have also come across rumours of them with increasing frequency prior to my joining the Inquisition and since as regards the movement of elven artifacts; given that Corypheus is investigating such sites so often, then it is clear we _must_ investigate and put a stop to this before it can be allowed to continue. Prior to this it might simply have been put down to the idle curiosities of Orlesians and to Tevinters wishing to still collect anything that they wish to claim as they ever have."  
  
"Servis was involved as such," Cullen interrupts quietly, managing to look amused for a moment. "Who would have thought we'd call it decent for a Venatori smuggler to want to line their own pockets with the profits of the magical artifacts they were dealing in?"  
  
"Whole damn world is a mess. But agreed." Bull leans forward, on the Inquisitor's left, any pretence of the amiable front gone as he narrows his eye and looks over the war table. "Orlais makes it easier to move things without drawing the same attention, even sending it off to Tevinter, makes it all look nice and normal, or like Morrigan just said: some rich fuck wanting some weird mystical crap for his study."  
  
"That still doesn't _quite_ explain this ruse of yours," Cassandra mutters, causing Bull and the Inquisitor to laugh until she turns to stare them both down. "It's like something out of some ridiculous book."  
  
"One of Varric's by any chance?" The Inquisitor asks, as if butter wouldn't melt. Morrigan has clearly missed something; Josephine giggles then hides her mouth behind her hand, Cullen makes a snorty laugh, Leliana has a very wicked sort of glint in her eye.  
  
It takes far too long for the Seeker to reply, mustering as much of her dignity as she can. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Of course you don't." It shouldn't be possible for someone like Beira Adaar to agree quite so breezily yet she manages it, as if she is humouring a doddering old dowager, patting her hand.   
  
"Are you blushing?" Bull asks after a pause, exchanging a look with his Inquisitor.  
  
"I am not!" But no matter how hot the denial, she only flushes a deeper red to the collar of her tunic.  
  
"Bull and I _could_ have gone but we would have been far too conspicuous to get anything done given-" the Vashoth woman gestures between them both when she decides to take pity on the other woman at last, "and that everyone and his dog knows about Bull. Don't start, we had the discussion, you lost, please keep the last tattered shreds of your dignity."  
  
"Remind me, when and how did I lose that in our argument?"  
  
"I don't want to hear this!" Cullen interrupts, the same shade of red as his coat, and Cassandra at least looks grateful. One day Morrigan will have to ask how anything actually gets done if this is how war room meetings tend to go if Bull gets involved although maybe that's why everyone submits reports rather than actually showing up to provide their input in person.   
  
"As our resident expert on elven artifacts and magic, as well as having experience in the Imperial court, Lady Morrigan is of course the best choice to send and I am glad she has agreed to go. We will waste far less time, as well as running less risk of discovering or loss of information or anything of value that way." Josephine's turn this time to turn their discussion back to the matter at hand with the deftest of touches, only something an ambassador might have. "Leliana will be going with her given her experience in the field and to ensure that there is no harm to befall her, and it makes for a more believable cover given the past that the two of you have shared. There is no tale spoken of the Warden the same way that Varric spoke of the Champion but there have always been rumours, but there were far more salacious pieces of gossip and intrigues within the Court. That both of you were close to the Hero of Ferelden once, then so close to powerful women in Empress Celene and Divine Justinia before coming together once again when the world is so dark yet again? That has set tongues wagging, I can assure you."  
  
"We have not sought to dissuade them," Leliana adds, and she sounds…coy, teasing even, holding Morrigan's gaze across the war table as if daring her to look away first. "I am sure our presence can provide the necessary distraction allowing for our agents to move unimpeded. We should not be gone overly long, and ordinarily I would remain but I am sure you can all understand that this truly requires a much more personal touch."  
  
"I'll say," Bull mutters, followed by a dull thump, grunt, and a laugh where the Inquisitor gives him a shove.  
  
"Agreed then. Everyone thinks the two of you are the weirdest and most wonderful couple in Thedas because the Inquisition is just that scandalous, we ruin the lives of some shady arseholes, get some good information without people getting hurt, and hopefully requisition their assets for the Inquisition when all is said and done?" The Inquisitor says it in a tone that leaves no room for argument, using her full height to remind everyone who commands the room for all the levity in the words themselves. "The sooner we get this show on the road, the better. I'll be headed back to the Emerald Graves myself to see what the Red Templars and the Venatori are after in there, with any luck we might have a connection on our hands, or maybe something more with the Freemen at least."  
  
Everyone files out apart from the Inquisitor and Bull, and Morrigan smirks at the look of despair on Cullen's face.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Kieran is accustomed to this?" Leliana asks as they make way from Skyhold before dawn astride dapple grey Orlesian Coursers for the sake of appearances. Behind them are a small group of agents to act as their retinue of servants, mostly elven to again keep up the appearances though Morrigan knows that it irritates Leliana that she must continue to play such games even now. A covered cart rumbles along in their midst; even for a short stay there are so many things to be brought, so many changes of clothes, so many hidden weapons, so much makeup and jewellery, endless pairs of shoes, the obligatory gifts, suggestions from Josephine, and, much to Morrigan's distaste, Vivienne, who of course is on a first name basis with the pair of them.  
  
"I have often left him before when I have had to travel far and wide for Celene to find whatever bauble she wished to see or to further my own studies. He is…he is used to such absences," she confirms though as ever she hardly knows if that makes it right, if that makes it better at all. If being used to it makes it fine. If she has ever given Kieran more choices than she herself had ever been given by Flemeth as a girl.  
  
"Are you?" Leliana asks after a moment of quiet.  
  
Where once Morrigan might have snapped, she sighs instead, staring out into the snow, mindful of where she must guide her horse. "I miss him," she admits, and it isn't as painful as the admissions of ten years ago were when she came to care for the Warden, when the words had to be pulled from her, torn up and out of a throat left raw and bloodied by it. "Tis a necessity as are many other things less than pleasant that bear fruit, as I am sure you are aware, I am always glad to return to him, and he is always glad to have me back." But how long for, how long before he knows what she did, before it might turn to hurt, to betrayal, to anger, to resentment? Before the sweet boy that loves her so lashes against her where she can do nothing but accept each blow knowing that she has earned each and every one?  
  
As ever she puts the thought for her mind for the times when she is truly alone with nothing but the past and the dead, for places undisturbed until her.   
  
For now there is riding, the snow-capped mountains glittering where they aren't hidden from view by the heavy cloud promising yet more of the same, and for that reason she has her hood pulled low over her hood, as does Leliana - though when does Leliana let hers down, when is she not cowled and armoured, ready for the worst – as the rising sun begins to stain the sky the delicate pink of a maiden's blush. It doesn't hide Leliana's smile however, as rare as a warm day in Skyhold. "I am glad you have someone to return to, and he is a good boy by all accounts. Arrangements have been made in Skyhold to keep him safe though I am sure you had already taken care of such things yourself but since you had made the offer, I wished to make sure he would not be unprotected at any moment."  
  
"Tis not unwelcome." A backward glance is spared for there are those who know in Skyhold of her son since it is harder to keep a secret there than it was in Orlais; together they spur their horses forward, hard packed snow and ice churning beneath their hooves, plumes of steam rising from their nostrils. "He is not most boys," she manages over the thundering, "I was uncertain as to how he would be received, not just by those who would simply meet him but by you. Knowing what you know." Leliana after all is the only one of them besides herself who returned from ten years ago, all the rest folded into other stories or writing themselves out of them entirely, yet she is sure their paths might yet cross again one day, stories are like that.  
  
"He is your son, and dare I say it, he has done you good."  
  
"You're teasing me?" She can't be sure, but there's a glint in Leliana's eye, a set to her mouth to that has her thinking she must be.  
  
"Think of it as following a wolf to her den to find she has cubs after she has sunk her teeth in you."  
  
"I have never-"  
  
"I am teasing you, Morrigan."  
  
It's the first time she's heard Leliana laugh in ten years. They slow the horses again now that there is nothing those behind them shouldn't know (and she is grateful, she is so grateful it still sickens some little part of her that is still the girl with the cracked broken golden mirror being swallowed up by the mire, the spiteful hurting thing scrabbling for freedom, that the truth of how both the Hero and Alistair survived remains between their little ragged band, even with so many Wardens reporting to Skyhold, and with their ceaseless, tireless research on Corypheus, his nature, digging into so much more than has ever even been thought of in generations) for it wouldn't do to have one of the things stumble, breaking a leg, sending them careening down the mountainside. Still, she thinks she might prefer it to this plan she has agreed to now that she cannot easily get herself out of it and so she turns to Leliana again.  
  
"This ruse, remind me again: I trust you have learned better than our efforts to infiltrate Fort Dragon to rescue the Wardens?"  
  
"It is funny you should mention that, I didn't wish to say much within Skyhold as a precaution, but it isn't too far from that actually. As I was the Left Hand of the Divine, and now advise the Inquisition, with the Herald of Andraste as its leader; who else will make you see the light, unholy apostate?" The voice becomes less Leliana, yet not the Nightingale, something that does indeed remind her of Fort Drakon but with more polish, remembrance of past mistakes, from time to practice again. "There are those who whisper fervently that I shall convert you, that I will finish what I must surely have started a decade ago when first we met – why else would you be in Orlais where the Grand Cathedral has been and will forever be, where they sing the Chant of Light in full? One day my love will have you falling to your knees in supplication, weeping when you feel His love, His light, His blessing, washing over you, cooler than any rain."  
  
She doesn't expect to laugh but it comes out of her, and she steadies her horse with a hand on her warm neck when she whinnies and tosses her head. "You truly believe you are up to the task of maintaining that you are converting _me_?"  
  
"Once I believed-" Leliana falters, hesitating. "Once again Morrigan is left to wonder who exactly she speaks with, Leliana, the Nightingale, the Left Hand, which is which, where they overlap, where one ends and the next begins and if there are more or if they are all one and the same vying to be one person beneath her skin. "It will suffice," she says with an air of finality, cool as the mountain morning, the Nightingale's voice when she decides what must be done be it a life taken, a threat made, leverage applied, a rumour planted that it might grow, and she clicks her tongue, walking her horse forward leaving Morrigan to curse quietly as she catches her up.  
  
"You did not allow me to finish."  
  
"Maker forbid you don't get the last word," Leliana mutters but she relents, inclining her head for Morrigan to continue.  
  
"Given the network you have assembled, and that you were no strange to the court then surely the rumours regarding myself can hardly have escaped your notice. As much as the tireless and ever virtuous Left Hand might seek to redeem my very soul from the jaws of depravity, could it not be said that I look to whisper in your ear, that I might lead you down dark and dangerous paths unknown?" Unbidden her voice drops, becomes something low, faintly glittering with the promise of more but what that promise is, what the more is, she doesn't know. Leliana is smiling again, as if she is trying so very hard not to and to remain serious. "You started as little better than heretics, the things they would say about you and Cassandra in particular throughout Orlais, well, I am sure yourself and Josephine know, even if you did not pass on the specifics to everyone else. Here I am again though, very much the cat amongst the pigeons or however they might so delicately put it, ravens if you prefer."  
  
"You're being ridiculous." But it's not an admonishment, not a proper one. "Ravens are hardly defenceless, as you well know."  
  
The road won't be so very long to this estate fortunately, slower than if she flew or ran as something other than herself but faster than the days in the Blight when they went by foot dogged by all matter of trouble on the way. Knowing they can pass the time with idle gossip and shared plans shortens it more; if she misses hearing songs carried on the wind at night accompanied by the delicately plucked notes on a lute then she is the only one to know.  
  


* * *

  
  
The last night before they arrive at Chateau Patenaude is the only night they avail themselves of an inn so that they might arrive looking somewhat kept rather than in travel-stained garb, stinking of horse and the road, a chance for a decent meal together about a table where they might speak more freely, to check the plans one last time, for reassurances and jokes. A small inn but very clean, relatively untouched by the war. There have been sons and daughters, friends and loved ones lost, but the surrounding area has been left relatively unmolested, free of rifts or anything that might weaken the veil, and the innkeepers are happy enough of the business, positively beaming to have the Inquisition present there even if they balk a touch at the sight of a mage amidst so many elves all armed openly and chattering amongst themselves without looking down once. Since their ruse calls for them to pose as a couple, she and Leliana have agreed to share a chamber as of tonight having split their watches on camp, though they sit across from one another at dinner at Leliana's insistence. A touch of distance that she is grateful for. Company still does not come so easily to her. Those with them are mainly elves or elf-blooded, keen eyes, keener wits, sharp senses of humour that she enjoys, some of them that she could even say she knows well from how they've come to report to her with their findings or theories from the places they've scouted with the Inquisition or even before, more pieces she might put together to make a whole.  
  
When the time comes to leave, she'll miss the Inquisition, and that was something she did not expect when she made plans to join even before she knew Celene would ask it of her.  
  
The wine that comes at the end of the meal is praised as a splendid vintage, and she duly has a glass but privately she's always thought that you could sell Orlesians anything if you concocted a fanciful enough story about the origins, about the rarity of the ingredients, and promised them it would make them the envy of their peers and made the price just high enough without it being an insult or blatant profiteering.  
  
At least the room has a bath, a small mercy; she has few qualms about scouring herself clean in freezing rivers but warm water and scented oils to soak the aches of hard ground and riding from her muscles will do her will, and Leliana graciously allows her to go first as she opens the small box of luxuries she brought from Skyhold. Such trifling things yet she guards them like precious secrets, these tiny bottles of oils, calendula, orchid, lavender, some with healing herbs crushing in them amongst other things. Things she would never have been allowed in the past but allows herself now. When the maids empty and refresh the water for Leliana, she extends tendrils of magic to keep it warm for her as she did for herself, listening as she sighs in bliss, sinking deeper into the water, combing her hair with her fingers. Steam curls lazily in the air, heavy with the fragrance of the oils, and Morrigan wraps herself in a towel in a chair by the fire that she stokes as one of the logs splits open, the sap within hissing and spitting brightly. Her hair lies loose over her shoulder, still as soft and sleek as it was in her girlhood. It's only after the maids have emptied Leliana's bathwater, bringing along tea and a selection of small cakes and pastries that Leliana locks the door, Morrigan warding it before they actually speak.  
  
"I will admit to being surprised that you agreed so readily to this though I know you stand to gain a great deal from it," Leliana begins slowly, "but your remark on our journey? About our…efforts in Fort Drakon? It had me thinking." Morrigan watches her as she speaks, eyes drawn to the shock of her pale arms as she pours the tea, still firm with muscle even now, the towel wrapped higher than Morrigan's own but it still dips when she leans across the table to offer Morrigan her cup. "Seduction," Leliana continues crisply when Morrigan glances back up to her face, stirring honey in her tea nonchalantly as if she hasn't noticed, "is part of the training you undergo to become a bard, and Marjolaine made certain I was accomplished at every aspect of that life."  
  
The confirmation doesn't shock Morrigan, truth be told she had suspected that back then, and she knows far more about bards now than she did then but it has her frowning as she lifts her cup to her lips. "Out with it then, tomorrow threatens to be the first in a series of many a long day."  
  
"If we are to convince people we are lovers, we shall have to be convincing. To the standards decency would dictate for women of our standing, fortunately, but there will be eyes upon us, always. I am skilled, but you…"  
  
Morrigan blames the wine from dinner, the heat of the bath, sitting so close to the fire, that her tea hasn't cooled enough yet for the flush she feels creeping up her throat when she is far too old for such things. "Do not speak as if I have never taken someone to my bed. The Warden and I agreed to our parting, and I do not expect others outside of her, myself, and Zevran to truly understand the arrangement. She is off with her elf, and our time together was what it was, for that time only. I am not some innocent ignorant girl." And perhaps it is a cruel reminder, but if they are speaking of shades and spectres, one of her own looms large as Leliana's. "My mother taught me much though I did not put it to use, much as she might have wished for me to do so. I have not dallied with any in the court, as is my preference despite some rumours in certain circles about myself and Celene that started after the truth about her and Briala came tumbling out, but I can play along. I know how such things work."  
  
"All the better to thumb your nose at it?" Leliana guess correctly, and it's not so terrible, to be able to laugh with her like this, shed of their skins for fragile moments before they must return to them. "Will you allow me to lead in this then?"  
  
"I can defer to your experience." Which is perhaps the best way to say 'I trust you' without committing to the weight of such words, for they can never be unsaid or unheard. "Sharing a bed will be a start."  
  
They are too aware to settle comfortable once the tea is done, the cakes covered with napkins to be given out in the morning as a last treat since there will be no such luxuries for those going undercover as their servants and attaches, even worn out from riding, recumbent from the rare treat of a bath. Morrigan's limbs are lead, weighing her down, turning her clumsy when she tries to settle, recalling those fleeting nights of sharing a bed. Her Warden, though that never felt fitting when they both knew in their hearts that it wasn't forever, that their love was real and true, but not something fit to last, they shared a tent, they shared cold hard ground and thin blankets. She never sought to put a claim on that young woman who has slipped through every hand but Zevran's. It was friendship, it was infatuation, it was love, but they were so young, snatching freedom, and for a future that pulled them so far from one another. They said goodbye to one another, and they will succeed in their goals though she sincerely doubts if they will ever meet again in this world. Since then there has been Kieran though, first when he grew inside her, slumbering beneath her heart, kicking at her ribs, then when he nestled in the cradle of her arms, curling warm and solid against her, less so now as he grows, but still seeking comfort from his mother. All of entirely different to this but Kieran is the one who taught her how to sleep soundly. How to lie still, that she could lie for hours at a time without having to be ready to run. In Skyhold he takes to sliding into her bed in the mornings, cold bare feet pressing against her legs, flushed cheeks from his dreams, a lazy hour before their days begin, when all the world is still quiet.  
  
Sleep wins before she can think too much about Leliana lying next to her, yawning and stretching, soft noises disturbingly like moans or mewls escaping her as she finally relaxes. They're mindful enough not to touch one another, declaring some boundary between them in the bed. When she wakes in the middle of the night to stoke the fire, a habit from childhood when the cold of the wilds came with biting teeth and grasping claw, she catches sight of Leliana, face half cast in shadow but slack with sleep, the furrow gone from her brow.  
  
She looks young again, peaceful, the girl that spoke of faith and roses.  
  


* * *

  
  
Chateau Patenaude skirts Orlesian tastes, confirming their suspicions shortly after arriving, dismounting, and being ushered through the entrance hall into a chamber where they might freshen up briefly before being received for a meal as the final preparations are made to their actual room. Neither of them plan to wear masks since they aren't known for doing so, when their faces are known so well, and Morrigan would rather see Leliana's face as it is when they're doing this. They dress quickly, freshening up as best they can with cloths and scented water, small bottles of perfume too before they find their makeup, the jewellery, the shoes, the dresses amidst what the agents bring in. It's the great monstrosity of a mirror in the room that captures their attention first. They take turns to sit at it to paint and line their eyes, rouge their lips, brighten their cheeks.  
  
"I sincerely hope our chambers are far less gaudy than this," Morrigan mutters, wrinkling her nose as her eyes meet Leliana's in the mirror when the other woman looks over from brushing out her hair until it shines bright. A giant dragon made of gold with precious stones for eyes, ivory for teeth set in a snarling mouth, the belly wide to allow for the main panel of the mirror with another mirror on the underside of each wing. The backs of the wings are some dark fabric, worn by time, purple or a deep red, she can't be entirely sure in the dim light beyond being utterly certain that it is _deeply_ ugly.  
  
"If there is then I will have it replaced, I'm not going to share a room with something so ugly even if the Lord Florinus claims to be a deeply homesick man, which I very much doubt."  
  
"Only Tevinter could make even dragons so deeply ugly." It does settle her, to joke about something so simple as a mirror but all too soon she must rise, smoothing imaginary creases from the dark fabric of her gown until she becomes aware of Leliana staring at her until her skin prickles. "What?" She snaps, waspish, irritable, Leliana's little laugh not helping.   
  
"You look lovely, that is all. Remember: we are together her." Her voice drops to a sultry whisper, meant for Morrigan's ears alone, and then she leans forward, fastening the necklace Morrigan left on the dresser about her throat, delicate gold filigree to match the fine patterning on the skirt of her gown, a striking contrast to the pale powder blue and silver Leliana has chosen. "Shall we?"  
  
She offers her hand. After a brief hesitation Morrigan takes it, the fabric of Leliana's glove far thinner than the gauntlets she would wear in Skyhold but likely thick enough to at least warrant her some protection from the potential harms that might be employed against her. She'd know them all, she has likely employed them in the past or had someone use them at her behest since this all began. As for herself, she has little cause to worry, and Leliana made a declaration at the start that she would allow no harm to come to Morrigan and she can believe that for she had never been a slouch in battle. Ten years ago the words might have been the impassioned words of a sweet dull girl that Morrigan would have turned on her with venom but for all that they both know she doesn't need it, she knows that she doesn't need to spurn it simply because she's never been afforded a thing freely without conditions, when Leliana is trying so hard she is tearing herself into different people.  
  
"Try not to look so murderous," Leliana murmurs quietly, lips at Morrigan's ear, causing the hairs at the back of her neck to prickle.  
  
"I realise you are attempting to have them believe you are converting me but the Chantry is one thing, puffed up and empty-headed inbreds are entirely another," she replies just as softly, though she does relent, trying to relax her features.  
  
"You are terrible."  
  
"You would have it no other way."  
  
She cannot be sure when she is no bard, even with all the time she has spent around them and Celene herself, supposed master of the Grand Game that she is, but Leliana's smile looks too fond and exasperated to be just a part of the act, so she allows the last of the sharpness to drop from her tongue just as the formal introductions are made in the cool of the drawing room. Generations upon generations of the Marchands and their relatives glower down at them from the walls as they settle themselves and sip at tiny glasses of sherry so dry it has the Lady Cerise coughing and giggling before the elderly butler arrives to summon them all to the dining room for dinner.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dinner is as tedious as any Orlesian meal is, enough so that Morrigan almost finds herself longing for the private meals she had shared with Celene, shutting out what had at times felt like the rest of the world. For the song and dance she had made of it, it must well have been to Celene, given the hours she worked, the fine tracery of lines about her mouth and eyes speaking of the toll running her empire took on her whenever Morrigan could catch her without mask or make up. She had made it something of a habit, to catch her at unguarded moments, to make it more in equal in some way. But these days she is a more civilised creature than she once was. She can sit at their table as she praises their cooks, using the right cutlery, drinking their blackberry wine; when she speaks a few fragments of poetry in elven they are in raptures, though behind his gilded mask she is sure she detects envy in the eyes of Lord Florinus, narrow and slitted as a serpent.  
  
"You must not let her escape," Lady Cerise exclaims breathlessly, eyes sharp behind her lacquered mask with whorls of gold paint at the eyes, a sign of the Tevinter influence on the house, of her marriage. "She is a treasure! If she unearths this about the elves, why if only you could persuade her to delve into the holiest of matters, into the lost fragments of our faith!"  
  
"If I might interject, my dear – have you ever thought of taking a trip to the Imperium, my lady? What you might find in the archives of Minrathous and in the Circles of my homeland, nothing at all like anything here. I would be delighted to arrange for such a thing, if it would please you."  
  
"My lord, my dear Morrigan is an advisor to her Imperial Majesty, and to the Inquisition."  
  
"And yet it is my understanding that it is one claiming to be a Magister from the first days of the Imperium that threatens us all, if the tales the Inquisition tells are to be believe, and truly, what she might find there rather than wasting away here in the south. Tevinter is after all the birthplace of so many a great thing, of civilisation no less. My apologies, my darling, but you know there are some things we must agree to disagree on." He sets a hand over his wife's, the pair of them laughing, Cerise's laugh a nauseating titter to set the teeth on edge.   
  
"Our honeymoon and visits to your homeland are among some of my fondest memories yet you cannot argue that Orlais is the cultural marvel of Thedas as it stands today, that she is a great beauty and that is from the heart of our empire that one day the Maker will turn his gaze upon us again when we have lead the world in singing the Chant of Light in every corner of the world. Not to mention," she pauses to take a long drink of her wine, fanning her cheeks with her hand, "that if one wishes to trade then it is my family that boasts the very best connections that we have worked for a lifetime to strengthen, generation to generation. I am sure Sister Nightingale will never take her lady to such a place, she is not so terrible a creature as you."  
  
Morrigan hides her grimace behind her glass when the wife shoves her husband, almost laughing when she looks at Leliana to find her similarly disgusted by the display.  
  
"The invitation still stands: should you wish to still know the Maker's Light where history truly began, and where none shall ever seek to bind you, you need only say the word, it would be my pleasure to see your every need met."  
  
Next to her Leliana stiffens, knee jabbing into Morrigan's thigh abruptly enough that it takes everything within her not to turn sharply and raise her eyebrow. Instead she sets her glass down with great care, swallowing before she speaks. "I thank you for such a kind and generous offer, however I rather prefer to study from the source. Since Arlathan remains lost to us, I shall keep to the ruins one finds throughout the south. As for the rest, well you would be surprised by the Inquisition, if you cared to learn more of it then I am sure we can oblige. It seeks to improve on history, and in truth, I would not be parted from the one who seeks to make that so, not when there is so much more we might accomplish together, when I might too help her see the light in my own way."  
  
It's something of a gamble to reach for Leliana's hand after agreeing to allow her to lead but their host is red, a man unused to being rebuffed or made mockery of even as lightly (and for her, that was very light mockery), something useful to learn at the very least, and Leliana does give a small smile, squeezing her hand as she rises, Morrigan moving with her.  
  
"If you will excuse us, we must regrettably retire early tonight – the journey from Skyhold is a long one with a retinue such as ours and well, who truly sleeps well at an inn when they are accustomed to something more comfortable?  
  
"But of course! We shall await you for breakfast then; all your belongings have been taken to your rooms, we hope everything is to your satisfaction," Lord Florinus says, recovering himself slightly as he rises, pulling back his wife's chair as he helps her to her feet.  
  
"Do not hesitate to let us know if you are in need of anything, anything at all, you are our guests after all."  
  
Leliana's hand is warm at the small of Morrigan's back when she guides them both from the room, met by one of their own in the fine yet unassuming garb of a servant with a small grimace of distaste on her face once she's sure the three of them are alone when she leads them down a hallway, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor.  
  
"This way if you please, my good ladies," the young woman says, Fereldan accent thick enough to catch Morrigan by surprise.  
  
"Everything is well?" Leliana asks once they've made it to their rooms (not an ugly dragon mirror in sight thankfully) with that concern for those under her command that goes beyond simply spymaster and into someone that has been left to her fate, who will not allow it to happen again.  
  
The young woman flushes to the tips of her ears, shaking her head. "S'fine, nothing I can't handle – just the usual y'know? For all of us really but I'm just not so used to being called rabbit. But it'll be worth it in the end."  
  
When Leliana murmurs that she is sorry, when she sounds so torn by it as her face falls, Morrigan takes it as her cue to move away allowing them what little privacy the room will allow. All their private business will have to be conducted that, and Leliana offers her thanks when she passes a seated Morrigan when the moment has passed. Unlike so many Orlesian ladies who require and demand servants to help with everything, they undress themselves, washing off their makeup and brushing out their hair as the elven woman gives an update on the goings on before departing to the servants' quarters. All part of the act; it wouldn't do to let the people _know_ that they're capable of unlacing corsets or folding gowns themselves after all. Leaving their jewellery on the dresser for now, they agree to skip the baths tonight, tired from even so simple a day and she's relieved to slip into her nightgown and the ornate bed, a huge four poster bed with a canopy, heavy red drapes of crushed velvet, overstuffed down pillows and blankets.  
  
"You could fit a whole family in one of these beds with room to spare," Morrigan comments as she and Leliana settle themselves, listening to the crackling of the fire, the hushed footsteps passing in the hall as someone extinguishes the lamps. An Orlesian household never sleeps all at once and there have been Inquisition agents planted ahead of time thanks to Bull's suspicions, working away and now joined by their fellows, ready to get to work in truth.  
  
"And yet there are larger still – you've seen Celene's have you not?"  
  
There's something off about Leliana's tone that Morrigan doesn't like though she's too tired to fully know why but it has her on edge the same way she would be when she might hear a wolf howling in the distance, wondering where the rest of the pack are, if they are hidden close to her. "What are you implying?"  
  
"I meant nothing by it." That is a lie and Morrigan knows it but she is baffled as to why and how. "It is known that you were both close, that private audiences, as well as confidences, were shared."  
  
"Audiences only, though tis hardly that." Rolling onto her side, Morrigan fixes Leliana with a look that dares her to look away first. "At dinner, when Florinus made his suggestion. You were jealous."  
  
Leliana snorts, indelicate and ugly. "Don't flatter yourself. We are to be seen as lovers, that is all."  
  
It's at the last second that Leliana looks away, something Morrigan doesn't miss even in the dark, but equally she cannot hide that the remark carries an unexpected sting even as she reminds herself that Leliana is right, and that more to the point, she hardly cares what Leliana might think. Court gown from the Winter Palace that she packed notwithstanding. And so the silence stretches, Morrigan shifting over onto her back as her faces burns, skin feeling too tight, reminded of how _Flemeth_ could make her feel, and that has her glaring up at the canopy above them, the bed suddenly not nearly large enough. As surely as she knew it in the Wilds, she knows she's being watched but she sets her jaw, drawing the silence down tight about her until it threatens to snap. Beside her Leliana makes an aborted gesture, reaching out then thinking better of it, the blankets rustling.  
  
"Morrigan-"  
  
"I believe I will take the chance to visit their library on the morrow, I believe that would be the best place for me to start." The hour is too late to have a conversation she doesn't fully understand the rules of in the dark in a strange house with a woman that is not the woman she remembers where all eyes are about to be upon them. "If you might be good enough to recommend one of those who came with us who might assist me without being pulled away from your work, I would be grateful."  
  
"Eloise will be able to assist," Leliana replies after a pause where she has the gall to sound hurt herself. "You work with her often enough, and I have made certain your requests are prioritised as often as possible, but if she is unavailable then there is also Lorcan, you would have corresponded with him rather than speaking in person since he prefers the field to Skyhold. I will spend time with the Lady then though I won't leave you entirely to his lordship, should he happen by."  
  
For the moment it's enough that she simply nods, rolling over again so she doesn't have to look at Leliana, to put another few inches of distance between them. Sleep doesn't come easily now, not when the words repeat themselves again and again, and when every little shift and sound has her eyes snapping open but eventually she drifts into an uneasy sleep a few hours before dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

After a quiet breakfast of no real importance where Cerise pretends valiantly that she isn't miserably hungover, Morrigan is shown to the library, and it's when the doors swing shut behind Florinus that she allows herself to sigh. True peace at last, after so many days constantly trapped by people every which way she turns, no matter how brief it might be. She stalks the shelves slowly, polished wood and thick carpets, and out of all the rooms it is easily one of the more tasteful, decorated in sombre dark tones with the smell of old books filling that air that she's come to love over the years. Where his wife might dictate that the rest of the house match whatever the latest Orlesian sensibilities and trends demand so as not to put off guests or business, this is clearly the domain of her husband where he spends much of his time, his retreat. A younger son, their intelligence said, not inclined for the priesthood but gifted in other ways; with a tongue and mind for politics as well as finances, a marriage into Orlais worked out well for them given the state of Tevinter, for a family sorely in need when mage blood runs rather thin in the Chelekeras lineage. He's done well for himself, she can't quite deny that, but then the whole Imperium has done that on the backs of others, and she stops short before an elven relic locked in a glass case atop a small carved wooden plinth. There are Venatori lurking in the background of all of this, and the hands of the lord and the lady are not so clean when they are smuggling these things, as well as other reports that they have sold flesh as easily as goods for the right price. If a few people go missing with the shipments who happen to have been born with pointed ears, who happen to have called Halamshiral their home, then who is there to care? Especially now after Celene's actions there.

Her reflection stares back at her from the glass case, mouth twisted into a grimace without her realising, a fairly common treasure in her view but then she's actually been to the places to see them with her own eyes whereas men such as Florinus and his ilk have not. Likely it behooves them to say something is rarer than it is too, and he might not know the difference either. Despite herself, the offer to visit Tevinter is more tempting than Leliana realises for the things they must have securely locked away where the Magisterium have pored over them for centuries upon centuries must be miraculous, but she will never set foot there if she can help it. Tevinter is a nightmare of horrors, it has blackened the name of every mage, it will always be a blight upon them the way true Blights are upon all the world. Turning away she makes for the shelves again in search of volumes that there might be here that Skyhold does not currently possess for all that Dorian has been exceedingly thorough in making his recommendations. At least they might acquire what they have here by some means when all is said and done, and she selects several books and settlings into a seat with the sun spilling in through a stained glass window warming her back by the time Eloise arrives, carrying with her a tray of refreshments. Eagerly she sets it down when Morrigan waves her over, leaning forward to better confide her secrets; already they have found packaged relics, hastily prepared to be shipped though of course they will be mislaid.

"I thought sketches would be better, I'm not always so good at describing some things in words, I'm better at finding things or scouting," she explains shyly, sliding several small pieces of parchment across the table, folded many times, still warm from where she must have tucked them against her skin to keep them safely hidden. "But that's only what we safely found, the Nightingale sent me to tell you, she said you'd know the value better than her."

It's ridiculous to be touched by the truth, especially when it's clearly an attempt at reconciliation, and yet she finds herself smiling. "All of it. There is so very little yet far too much of it already sits in Tevinter or on Orlesian mantles, and I am sure their coffers are full enough as it is without inflating them further. Tell me, the rumours regarding the other part of the shipments…"

When Eloise's ears droop, and when she would rather busy herself making tea, she sighs, shaking her head in disgust. The despair she saw ten years ago in Denerim was disgusting, slavers allowed to walk so openly when they peddled false hope amidst the squalor that war had worsened, and she cannot fathom the state of Halamshiral now, even if the Inquisition has settled things with Celene and now Briala, with peace being restored to the Empire with the cessation of hostilities, there will always be those such as this couple who will not even see elves in the first place.

"The Inquisition will not allow this to stand," she says when Eloise says nothing further, and the young woman nods, opening her mouth only to be interrupted by the study door opening and closing, quiet footsteps approaching. Leliana is not the one Morrigan expects to see, and when she spies the scowl on her face, she can raises an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem?"

"That is one way to put it." Pulling out a seat, she drops into it carefully so as not to crease the gown she is wearing, lighter than anything she would wear around Skyhold where Morrigan has become accustomed to seeing her with her hood up, clad in her chainmail. "Lady Cerise has had the _wonderful_ idea to hold a small gathering to celebrate us being here. Her husband is less than amused about it, we will have a report later this evening as I was asked to leave, and I could hardly argue."

"I'll go, see if I can help then," Eloise offers, nodding to both of them before she gathers the tray she arrived with, beating a quick retreat as Morrigan closes the volume in front of her with a sigh.

"What sort of gathering?" Morrigan asks carefully once the door closes behind the elf, watching Leliana grit her teeth, rubbing at her temples until she produces a particularly wicked sort of smile that at least prompts one from Morrigan despite the night before.

"A dance. One I believe she has planned for given the deliveries that I received reports of, and she took the liberty of informing me that she has extended invitations to as many lords and ladies as she can; the war has ended, a new Divine is to be chosen, we should all laugh in the face of the enemy should we not?" There's a roll of the eyes at the words. "A surprise her lord husband was unaware of." Leliana drops her voice when she speaks, always aware that there might well be ears; she knows Orlais, of spies hidden, and the hidden passages that can be built within the very walls of homes. A library such as this given the activities of lord Florinus and it's all too possible there are places built within the walls that they haven't found yet.

"Do you believe she is aware of the activities of her husband?" Morrigan asks, not wishing to think of the dance quite yet. All her time in Orlais and she was able to keep herself out of them, now she joins in the Inquisition only to be expected to join in, to be a part of the spectacle. Couples dance, and even should she have sent for as many distinguished nobles as she can, she will have two members of the Inquisition within the walls. Each and every eye will be upon them.

"Some of it, yes. The artefact smuggling certainly, and there is no reason to doubt her business acumen though I cannot tell yet if she knows about her husband's involvement with selling elves into slavery. She is a good player of the Game, and she hides well behind her masks. Her husband not so well, his temper was entirely genuine when he heard of her plans."

"Leaving us with an opportunity," Morrigan guesses, Leliana inclining her head as she rises to her feet, offering her arm. It annoys her that she finds less satisfaction than she wishes when Leliana looks hurt when she refuses to take it.

"Must I remind you of our ruse?" She adds in a sharp whisper, taking the arm anyway, tucking it close to her side as she leads them out of the room to where there are servants – not Inquisition plants, Leliana's insistence on holding her slots into place, and she continues on as they talk. "I do hope you have remembered to pack your gown from the Winter Palace, I was so upset not to be afforded the opportunity to dance with you that night, our respective duties binding us to our cause. The Maker has set us both upon the same path now, we are to enjoy the gifts He has given us, no?"

Rolling her eyes, Morrigan nevertheless allows herself to be lead outside in the direction of the gardens where there are more servants and merchants, horses stamping and whinnying as the deliveries are unloaded. No expense being spared clearly, and if the arrival of the Inquisition irritated her husband, housing extra guests? Scrutiny he likely hasn't planned for.

"Dinner tonight should prove amusing, I would hope."

"Or Cerise's excuse for her husband's absence at the very least, I wonder what he thinks will give more away: if he can afford to join us for dinner and pretend all is well, trusting that he and his wife can play the Game well enough, and that he can hide and remove all the evidence he must before they all arrive or we uncover it, or if his absence will provoke questions, especially if Cerise lets something slip." Leliana leads them into maintained gardens, fashioned into a maze of sorts such as those in Val Royeaux though Morrigan finds herself unfamiliar with many of the plants, avoiding them carefully; she knew the plants in the Wilds, knew how easily any of them could be used to become a poison, and so often poison is called a woman's weapon. Leliana undoubtedly knows just how dangerous each and every plant in this garden would be from her days as a bard, unless some have come from Tevinter. "The report tonight at the very least will provide us the best lead to go on."

The gardens are quiet enough, so Morrigan takes a seat, finding herself missing Skyhold. She and Kieran spend so much time there together when he isn't attending to his studies, a fleeting moment to catch their breath that she might never have again. They've had much longer absences but she misses him. He's her son, a part of him is incapable of missing him, and she hopes he's well though he's made friends there thanks to the refugee children as well as the young child mages that come up for their own lessons within the walls, doted on by the Inquisitor and her allies. Leliana is waiting for her to say something, and she gives a soft sigh. "Courtly intrigues rear their heads once again."

"Tis a beast not easily sated." Leliana pauses, seeming to realise what she has said. Morrigan doesn't bother to hide the smile when the woman's mouth pulls into a moue. "You have packed your gown from the palace, yes?"

"I would not dream of disappointing the Nightingale of the Imperial Court or," she pauses, hoping Leliana will think nothing of it, that it is simply like all the pauses she gives when she leans close should any happen past, "depriving you of a dance when you seem determined to believe I would remember you words from ten years ago regarding lurid comments."

"Lurid?" Leliana laughs, a light hand upon her arm. "They were hardly lurid, and clearly they remained when you wear much the same as you did ten years ago. Am I truly to believe Kieran picked the dress?"

Morrigan only smiles the way a mother can smile, Leliana makes an aggrieved sound.

"Come, I would take refreshments in our rooms."

The gardens are no place to talk, not when the gardener has hacked the head off three roses and is doing the same to a fourth then a fifth when they link arms as they rise.

* * *

Morrigan has been to more balls in her short time in Orlais than she cares to have attended, has been displayed before the masses thumbing her nose at their ridiculous shows, at the things they worry over when the very house is burning down about them. Satin or lace, teal and coral or verdigris and puce, what bird must the feathers come from for the mask or will the spines or scales of a rare beast be acceptable without being considered tacky? No such concerns tonight, not for so small an affair, not for her when she made it clear from the start that she would bend just enough not to cause a riot. Enough to cause Celene to still clench her jaw but to still smile because it meant people were off their guard. Because she was a sensation. She was an unknown element. Tonight that can only work to their advantage again though unlike at the Winter Palace there are not nearly so many places to hide, and not nearly so many guests that any absences on their parts will not be noticed.

Elves to Orlesians still all look alike, and they move freely as Leliana and Morrigan arrive fashionably late. At times she did wonder how Leliana might have dressed at court once she moved among the ranks of the wealthy, and tonight it is Leliana who stands out; an autumnal palette has been chosen by their host, or one of mourning, or one to flatter her husband, heavy dark tones and heavy fabrics. Morrigan wears her gown from court of course, Leliana however moves at her side in a gown of blue and silver, sleeves that stop halfway down her upper arm, a modest train to the dress of pale blue lace beneath something that feels like the most delicately made but fine chainmail Morrigan has ever touched, dark blue glinting silver in the light, cut to cross over the bodice to keep it interesting with pale lace and shimmering silk. Leliana wears her hair down, brushed until it shines.

She still keeps the braid in place.

At other parties, Morrigan cut a solitary figure when there were a very few who dared to approach her. More often than not crowds would part in her wake before the whispering behind their masks began, and tonight is more of the same though more hushed with such a small group of musicians, and it makes her smirk to see just how many more servants there are than guests.

Unfortunately it does rather complicate matters, and she says as much to Leliana when they've taken a glass of wine each, the only two not bothering with masks when neither of them are known for wearing them in the first place.

"A pity the Inquisitor could not come, or others from Skyhold," Leliana agrees behind her glasses, tutting when a woman twirls to reveal her shoes. Leliana's own are something she had cooed over, actually cooed. Annoyingly, though not to Morrigan's tastes they are rather exquisite: the same blue as her dress but the heels are either scales or something made to look like scales, shimmering if they should catch the light to a pale pink, with a matching jewelled decoration on the front and the back, a pale opalescent stone surrounded by a garland, an amethyst hanging from it. Elaborate, expensive, but somehow not tasteless.

It isn't lost on her that she's biased.

"T'would be a welcome distraction, our absence will certainly be noticed."

"We will manage, I am sure of it." Leliana's voice carries a note of steel, and Morrigan nods. "Come, we should make our introductions, I am anxious to make sure everyone knows just how happy we are together." Morrigan rolls her eyes but allows herself to be pulled along, fixing her smile in place, the kind she used to favour Alistair with ten years ago when she wished to trap him in a lightning storm inside his armour. Leliana nudges her with her elbow. "Stop smiling like that, the guests will be terrified."

"I can only be who I am, the scandalous apostate from Celene's court."

"I am bringing you into the light."

"And I am leading you from it."

"You are _impossible_ ," Leliana complains, but her smile is too real to be any part of the act, her voice fond and Morrigan feels her own expression softening enough to something the spymaster will be satisfied with.

"You would have me no other way."

"It seems I would not."

There's a catch in her throat, something Morrigan wants to ask her about, wants to linger on but there is some Lord and Lady or Comte and Comtesse so she steers her mind back, says enough to make them gasp, to give them the show that they're all expecting. Leliana playing the Game this way is something she never got to see before, not up close, and she finds herself enjoying it the way she enjoys watching a dragon taking flight, or hunting through ancient ruins for something lost, seeing Kieran struggle with some lesson to finally master it. Seeing her outside of the rookery is all too rare a thing in Morrigan's opinion, and to see her with her hood down even for moments such as these when she can be so close? Well, she can deal with being forced to hide her teeth when she smiles, to tuck her claws away.

When she dares, just to see what Leliana will do, she tucks her red hair behind her ear, blue eyes darting her way. Leliana turns into the touch and Morrigan thinks _oh_ for a moment, something settling into place, a key into a lock. The couple speaking to them nod, moving away and Leliana takes a breath, a shudder passing through her that Morrigan realises she was only able to hold at bay, something that is entirely real. For a moment the bard is stripped away, and it is Morrigan's turn to have her breath catching in her throat when their eyes meet, utterly unable to look away.

The music changes, a murmur travelling through the room and Leliana takes her by the hand, giving as much of a courtly bow as she can manage in her gown as the men about the room, as well as a few other ladies do the same. "Will you honour me with a dance, Lady Morrigan?" Leliana asks, with a smile playing about her lips.

Morrigan could refuse. It would not be entirely unexpected. They would laugh, Leliana could turn it into a joke of course and still salvage an advantage from it but she finds herself moving without thinking, setting her hand in Leliana's as she sighs.

"If you must." There is at least a sneer in her voice, as much grudging as she can manage when Leliana leads her into the space that has been cleared in the hall; Chateau Patenaude is not quite grand enough, likely to the embarrassment of Lady Cerise at least, to have a hall simply for dancing as other estates do. If they entertain, Morrigan imagines as dancers part to allow them to be within the centre of the group and not the outskirts as she has perhaps hoped, then the lord probably prefers dinners or hunts. Stray thoughts to calm a heart that is suddenly pounding. Why is she worried? She has come through far worse than something so ridiculous as Leliana smiles serenely at her. "Need I warn you as to what will happen if you make me look a fool before all these folk?" Her voice is low, lips close to Leliana's ear as a hand settles at her waist, allowing Leliana to lead.

Morrigan has never danced. Morrigan has never done so many things, even trusting Leliana to take the lead this much is a new and heady thing that leaves her faintly reeling as if she has drunk too much wine.

"I would not dare," Leliana replies softly, and is it Morrigan's imagination and perhaps wishful thinking that there's fondness in her voice?

It is easy to follow the steps of a waltz when Leliana can move so confidently, so effortlessly and though Morrigan never forgets herself or where she is, she finds it near impossible to stop the world from narrowing down to the flush on Leliana's cheeks, the way the light plays on her dress, how close they are. The arm and hand so hot, so heavy they burn through the layers of Morrigan's gown and when Leliana dips her, the world spins out of focus, and she tightens her fingers. The flush on her own cheeks is embarrassment, she tells herself, nothing more.

"Stop it," she hisses when all the dancers are turning so that the rustling of fabric swallows all words.

"Stop what?" Leliana asks, and Morrigan cannot tell if the innocence is false or not, and that only vexes her further.

"You are enjoying this," Morrigan accuses instead.

Leliana has the gall to laugh. "It's a party, my dear Morrigan," it shouldn't make her shiver, to hear her name fall from those lips like that but it does, "and I am dancing with the woman I love? Love is the greatest gift of the Maker."

Something curious flutters in Morrigan's stomach, her hand anchored on Leliana's hip where the fabric of her gown is thin soft, almost stroking for a moment as the dance brings them closer, aware that couples are peeling away as they did when the Inquisitor danced with Duchess Florianne. That sort of scrutiny is dangerous but there's a thrill in it, the two of them, the many eyes that want them – Leliana is a beautiful woman too, seemingly unattainable as Left Hand and the Nightingale the same way Morrigan has always been as Arcane Advisor. Here they are now, together, dancing, smiling, supposedly very much in love with one another.

She shivers, Leliana raises a brow when she feels it. By the end of the dance only two couples remain on the floor, including them, and Leliana dips her again, pulling her close as she whispers in her ear. "Was that so terrible?"

"If I tell you how I truly feel I imagine it would cause a stir when one of us slept outside our rooms," Morrigan manages to say as they both watch the lord disappear, his lady wife hurrying to continue the festivities as the music begins once again. Morrigan might say more, might try to regain her footing but they're interrupted.

Lorcan approaches, bearing a tray. "My ladies, might I offer you refreshments? You look rather in need," he greets. More in need than he realises even from watching the display. "Or perhaps you might wish for a breath of air," he suggests after a glance around and at them, "if I might be so bold as to recommend."

"I believe a little air and privacy is needed," Leliana agrees, loud enough to be heard by anyone around as she takes Morrigan's arm once again, indicating for the elf to lead on. "My lady has quite a flush to her cheeks, no? I must attend to it."

Morrigan wishes it was not against the rules of Orlesian society to encase all those tittering in their wake within blocks of ice before cracking them apart with lightning.

* * *

While everyone else is off dancing, the agents from Skyhold have wasted no time in getting to work and Leliana and Morrigan are updated by Lorcan en route, their little group moving quickly and quietly as Morrigan catches sight of a few others in hallways, ready to keep watch.

"Lord Florinus was upset at the timing of both your arrival and the party organised by Lady Cerise due to having incriminating documents implicating him and the estate," Lorcan explains softly so that only she and Leliana can hear should anyone come this way. The study is fortunately on the way to their chambers as well as one of the more private gardens, away from where so many of the horses and carriages are for the other guests that have arrived.

"Venatori sympathies?" Leliana asks, Lorcan nodding. "And Lady Cerise smiles and tries to carry on as normal. Do we know where the Lord is now?"

"At least one of his business partners are here, they're making arrangements, we should know more but they don't trust elven servants to listen in and we had difficulties placing a new human face in the staff, sorry Nightingale."

"Don't be, you've done well and we can't afford to jeopardise this. You will return to the party to explain our absence if questions are asked?"

"Of course, good luck." Lorcan gives them both a grim smile before he opens the door to the study with a nod to them both before he closes it behind them, plunging them into shadows but for the thin strip of light from beneath the door itself.

Leliana leads the way into the room, squinting in the darkness. Unlike when Morrigan sought refuge and peace to work in, without the sun warming her skin or a fire in the hearth, the room is cold and foreboding, and when Leliana indicates that they're alone and that Morrigan should follow her in, she uses her magic to light the way. A small spell but better than them fumbling in the dark. And unlike a candle or a lantern, there will be no evidence should they be discovered and have to extinguish it in a hurry.

"What exactly are we searching for? Documents, objects, or both?" Morrigan asks. She would assume both but she's never worked on this sort of thing with Leliana before and the less they discussed this part of the plan, the better when they couldn't be certain who was listening to them after all.

"Documents would be best, although anything you might find to return to the Inquisition you are free to mark for when we leave, it would be far better in our hands to be studied and put to good use than lining his pockets or given over to Tevinter," Leliana replies quietly, gathering her gown in her hand as she heads deeper into the study and the imposing door at the back of the room, tutting when she gets a look at it.

Morrigan smirks. "I assure you, tis an uglier sight in the light of day when you can truly see it."

"Might I have a little more light?"

"Of course." Her gown after all was designed to allow her to move to deal with bards, as well as the ghastly harlequins the Orlesians are also so very fond of and she kneels with care by the lock, wishing she had her staff with her since bending her wrists the way Leliana requires verges on painful. "Losing your touch locked away in your tower? Shall I send for Zevran?"

"Don't you dare." Leliana pauses in her work to glower at Morrigan who smirks at her, moving only to shift her weight on her knees as they pop. Neither of them are quite so young as they were once but at least they aren't vain creatures in denial of it. "The lock is well-made, that is all."

"If you insist."

It takes only a minute longer before the lock gives way, Leliana offering Morrigan a hand to her feet that Morrigan accepts before brushing dust from her gown. Leliana looks triumphant for that moment and it's as if ten years have lifted from her, as if they are young again, as if she is a girl that perhaps never existed at all (that is the puzzle with Leliana – who was she, after all, she was already so many different people before she even met them in Lothering and began to shed her skin, they will always have that in common, the pieces of them torn and left behind under the fingernails of other women) and Morrigan rolls her eyes but follows, closing the door.

"He will know someone has been here unless he keeps a key, Maker's breath, this darkness—"

"I believe I can aid that, of course he would have one of these as well." One of these meaning a Veilfire brazier that Morrigan lights, bathing the room in light she is familiar with by now but that never makes it less eerie, the soft flickering blue-green flames so close in colour to the rifts or the Fade. Leliana blinks at the suddenness of it but nods gratefully, beginning her search as Morrigan shakes her head and helps, opening the desk. The Winter Palace had such artifacts that she procured for Celene, little things to fascinate her, to keep her company. Celene saw to her comforts when she was able to provide these sorts of things but she wonders where Florinus managed to get them.

She wonders who died after they brought them to him as well, or if he even knows what he has. He is no mage, after all, and the ones in the palace at least tending to always glow whereas this one has seen no touch of magic since her. Then again, she doesn't know what lurks in his lineage the way Leliana does. Leliana concerns herself with the desk, rifling through it with practiced ease because she knows exactly what she's looking for compared to Morrigan who has done a few things like this when she must, but this is a private room, things not for consumption for those visiting the estate proper and she begins her examination with care. Much of what she spies comes from Tevinter, that much she can tell, some of it would seem to be dwarven as well but dwarves have status in Tevinter so some of that might well come from his home as easily as it might come from merchants in Orlais or elsewhere. The elven finds give her pause, filling her with longing but she cannot take them yet.

She is aware of Leliana calling her name, drawing her back to the present.

"What do you need of me?"

"I asked if you had found anything of note yet."

"Not particularly, not without further study, only…each of these items, Leliana? They are priceless beyond measure. I have seen glimpses of them, or read translations that might match some of them," she explains with no small measure of sorrow, enough it would seem that Leliana smiles sadly and stops what she's doing to set a hand on her arm.

"I will see to it that it comes with us. All of it. And as much as can be recovered."

The fierceness in Leliana's voice takes her by surprise, and she's touched by it, setting her hand atop hers for a moment as she swallows around a suddenly tight throat, unsure what she is to do with this sort of attention directed towards her when she has only ever been alone with her work. It isn't unwelcome, but unexpected. "You have my thanks," she manages when she can speak again, "let us return before our absence is noted."

"Oh I am sure they are already concocting ludicrous theories," Leliana replies but she sounds light enough, moving away. Morrigan finds she misses her touch.

She gives herself a shake so she can get back to matter at hand, the pair of them alert for the slightest sound but there's less scrutiny than there would have been at the Winter Palace for the Inquisitor; they're both human women too, not striking Vashoth taller than every man in the room minus Iron Bull (also absent) so they have to their advantage as well though Morrigan can feel her heart hammering, and she wonders if Leliana feels the same. Perhaps a bard uses that to their advantage or it's trained out of them entirely.

"Here!" Leliana announces at last, when Morrigan has been noting down several volumes she's sure Dorian in particular would gladly see added to Skyhold's library, joining her at the desk when she's beckoned over. "Look at this."

Her smile is grim but satisfied and as soon as Morrigan begins to read over her shoulder, she understands why: shipment plans and letters for artifacts and slaves, people treated as though they were little more than goods and in some cases as less than goods. "After all," Morrigan reads from one of the letters, "these artifacts are one of a kind, an elf can be replaced, they matter little and less, update me on the prices back home next time – Celene has been making a lot of noise and this Briala upstart, I regret to inform you that even supporting the scholars at the university in their works about the elves now as requested, it's more and more difficult to supply from this end." Reading the words makes her feel sick enough that she has to steady herself when she steps away from Leliana, hanging her head low, shoulders almost touching as the shadows and flickering light cast them in sharp relief.

"I played a part in this," she murmurs so quietly Morrigan almost misses it. "Divine Justinia sent me to speak with Celene some time ago, before the war in Orlais began when she was concerned with the political instability." There's a weariness and a bitterness in her tone that draw Morrigan back, a hand on Leliana's arm to draw her up and away from those words to look at her instead, "Celene wished for Justinia to make an appeal to reason on the Mage-Templar war however Celene did not know all about Justinia's stance on that issue. Do you remember that ghastly performance at the Grande Royeaux?"

"I heard of it," Morrigan replies carefully for who could not have heard of that when it was on the lips of everyone from the lowliest servant to the highest nobility throughout Orlais?

"I went there to meet with her and deliver a message from Justinia, to encourage her to take action against the rumours of elven favouritism since they were eroding her grip on her throne by losing her allies therefore destabilising Orlais. That was what lead to Halamshiral." Her voice is a choked whisper, anger and grief warring to see which one might strangle her first and Morrigan is furious once more at this woman she has never met, who once again just as Marjolaine before her has used Leliana for her own ends. Now is not the time but she still reaches for her, finds her hand, squeezes tight.

"That was not you, Leliana."

She laughs bitterly. "Was it not? I am her Left Hand, Morrigan, I carry out what she could not. Do you know how many nations rested within the palm of my hand? How many lives I ended?"

"Halamshiral was not your doing," Morrigan tells her sternly, attempting to push down what feels absurdly like a bubble of panic along with her fury for neither will help her.

"I wonder, sometimes."

Before they can say more, there is a sharp noise – the signal agreed upon by Lorcan – and they're cursing, Leliana shoving the papers back where she found them as Morrigan readies herself to extinguish the flame. That still leaves them with somewhere to hide but Leliana has that well in hand, pulling a false book to reveal a hidden door with just enough space for them to slip inside, pressed against one another with a slit for them to peer through. The Veilfire is gone, and Morrigan is only aware of the heat of Leliana against her as the cupboard (or whatever this happens to be) forces the corset to dig uncomfortably into her back.

Fortunately there is light, Lord Florinus and his companion, both of them without their masks as they fumble the lock into the study with curses.

"-at a time like this, damn this Inquisition, I would have hoped Florianne-" Florinus' companion complains, this one a born and bred Orlesian with heavy jowls that shake as he speaks.

"Well she had far more ambition than sense, that's what happens when you want the throne. Look at the state of affairs we're in now." Florinus is the one speaking this time, before he pauses, taking a look around the room with a frown that makes Morrigan hold her breath, Leliana too. She reaches for her hand without thinking, aware of how close they are, of the dance, the way they smiled and teased one another, and now of what she said, what Justinia had Leliana say.

She was Justinia's hand, not her mouth.

She wants to kiss the frown away, a stupendously unhelpful thought as they listen to the men arguing back and forth over prices, about Cerise, cursing the Inquisition and half the members; Morrigan and Leliana do not escape mention, hardly surprising. A glance to Leliana confirms that Leliana's gaze is on her mouth too, not out on their targets; tonight has been a strange night, a long night after everything leading up to it and that it isn't over yet is enough to make Morrigan begin to have regrets about agreeing to it. Yet they have come too far to turn back now and how else would she have learned what Leliana confided in her?

"Can you believe it? The pair of them? After Celene and that elf brazenly cavorting about the place, an heathen ox-man leading the Inquisition with that beast of a lover of hers and now this? Florinus, how can you stomach such a thing in your own house?"

"Cerise's idea, not mine my good man," Florinus rises, tucking documents into his coat. Leliana bares her teeth and he glances back in their direction. Morrigan cannot tell if he knows or merely suspects. After everything she has had to deal with tonight she has a headache pulsing in her temples, spreading out in a myriad of fine cracks throughout her skull, and all she wants is to go to bed. (She wants Kieran but he's safe as he can be in Skyhold, so she does her best not to dwell on him so she won't make herself feel even worse.) "I will keep watch over them, the timing is…Ah, think nothing of it, let us return before Cerise is in hysterics, you know how she is. Some women weep, mine finds the knives."

"That's why you married her though, you like a woman with passion."

They laugh, shutting the study door as Morrigan and Leliana wait quietly until they judge it's safe to make their escape.

"He has the documents," Leliana says once they're out. "Damn him, I will have to find some way to get hold of them now. And of course he suspects."

Morrigan rubs her temples then her back where it's beginning to ache from the confinement, narrowing her eyes at Leliana. "Our next move?"

"Return to the party as if nothing is amiss, regroup at the first chance we get within our rooms. We make him pay for what he has done, Cerise too, I will send word back to Skyhold with one of our fastest and most reliable agent and horse as soon as I am able. They should be able to start preparations," Leliana's voice is steel, but she puts her smile in place as she links arms with Leliana, leading her out of the study carefully, their eyes adjusted enough to the darkness that a light isn't required this time.

"Florinus suspects us, not simply that we are investigated but that we are not as much in love with one another as he is with his dear Cerise." Despite it all, it does make Morrigan smile, even just to break the tension and Leliana laughs, the music swelling the closer they get to the party.

"Well we must rectify that, mustn't we?" With her voice almost as low as Morrigan's own, Leliana is crowding her against a pillar where they're just out of sight for the sake of modesty, but still able to be seen by anyone should they happen to pass on their way in or out. For a heartbeat Morrigan thinks Leliana will kiss her but she reaches out to muss her hair instead, as if she's been out in the night air, tugging her dress this way and that so it sits lower at her bust. "Do not protest, we must be convincing, no?"

"You are enjoying this?"

"And you are not?" Leliana is close enough to feel Morrigan's heart pounding, to see the flush that creeps up her throat and the warmth of her skin, the way she leans into the touch as she bites her lips. "Good, that will make it more convincing," she continues as she worries at her own.

"I'm surprised you won't kiss me, after the life you have lead. Worried for some of the rumours about we Witches of the Wilds?"

"Perhaps my days of meaningless kisses are well and truly over," Leliana suggests archly. "Come, any longer and they will send a search party for us."

* * *

It takes an age to fall into bed. The party drags on until the small hours with constant tittering, shocked gasps, whispers, all of them following her and Leliana, all part of the plan; Morrigan wishes she had the energy to be hurt but she's exhausted from it all. There are agents to be carefully summoned, plans they must go through, information from everyone else that has to be pieced together. Then and only then can they all be dismissed so that she and Leliana can peel themselves out of their gowns, massaging away the ugly red lines that corset lacings have left on their skin, scrubbing away makeup, finally taking the chance to stretch and to breathe once again.

"What a night," Leliana says when she flops back into the bed with a sigh, arching her back like a satisfied cat.

"I will be glad when all this is at an end, remind me never again to volunteer for such a thing." Morrigan crawls beneath the covers, settling on her side to face Leliana as she yawns hugely until her jaw cracks, prompting Leliana to do the same.

"I still cannot believe that you did though truly? This wouldn't be possible with anyone else."

"Nonsense, t'would be far easier with a score of others, but I am flattered."

"Morrigan," Leliana reaches out, a hand on her wrist as she blinks, fighting sleep, "I could not do this without you. You know me. You knew me before and that…that matters here. I cannot explain it exactly but it does, we work well together. And I am enjoying your company."

Morrigan still manages to laugh, despite sleep wishing to drag her under. "I will never allow you to forget that."

"I expect you will not." The smile on Leliana's face freezes however, not a pout but something close to it, a sign of discomfort as she tries to settle. "What you said to me in the study, about Halamshiral-"

"I meant it." With a sigh that masks a groan of pain, she is no longer young after all, and raising a son takes a toll, she makes herself sit up enough to look at Leliana, to really look at her, hand clutched in hers to hold her attention. "I have had ten years to think on who I was and who I am. I am many things, we all are. But I am not the mother Flemeth was not me, just as you are not what Marjolaine wished to make you, or what Divine Justinia had you be as her hand. You are your person. You may take your own chances in life to be free, Leliana. Remember that when it is what you say you fight for, for the elves, for mages, for all people in Thedas."

Leliana is quiet, blinking in the dark but a soft 'oh' falls from her lips as Morrigan lets her go, too tired to say more tonight after everything, after she still wonders why Leliana would only pretend that they had kissed when it put them more at risk than if they truly had.

"Have we not suffered enough, you and I?" She murmurs to the darkness before she can stop herself when she too lies down, staring at the ceiling and hoping that in Skyhold Kieran is sleeping well without nightmares plaguing him with her not there to settle him.

"On that…on that we agree," Leliana concedes at last, her hand finding hers. "Rest well Morrigan."

If Morrigan dreams that night of Leliana and her in that cupboard, risking discovery by way of Leliana kissing her senseless, or Morrigan being the one to push her against the pillar outside the party to make a mess of her and leave her gasping, then only Morrigan knows of it. The rumour mill does the rest before they rise for breakfast the next day with their plan of attack to face down their foes at last.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so damn long to get more of this story up, real life just got in the way spectacularly and I just completely floundered with this story.

Come morning, Morrigan becomes aware of several things at once. First, that neither she or Leliana bothered to shut the heavy curtains before falling into bed the night before, the warm golden light spilling in the most likely thing to haven woken her. Secondly, that it's far later than either of them would ever usually sleep. Morrigan never slept late, always a luxury that she imagined happening to other people when she was a girl, then when there might have been a choice in the matter there was Kieran. The life of a bard and spymaster is likely one of far later nights blurring into earlier mornings, habits worse than her own. Thirdly, and most pressing of all, is that at some point during the night or the small hours of the morning, she and Leliana have finally managed to end up in an untidy tangle in the middle of the bed. Some, she would imagine, would think it the first time she has ever slept so close to another but even Flemeth would tuck her close to her side in childhood, and again in the cold winters of the Wilds penetrated the walls of their hut. And again with Kieran. So small in her arms in the Crossroads and beyond, and even now when he has nightmares, when they camp, when he wants her to tell him one more story before it really _is_ time for bed from where he's tucked under her arm.  
  
But this…  
  
Leliana is curled on her side, a hand beneath the pillow where Morrigan knows she has hidden a blade to have it in easy reach, and her face is slack with sleep that makes her look at peace in a way she cannot be with the weight of the Inquisition upon her. _Such a selfish thing they ask of you_ , she thinks but they did not ask, she knows how it came to be and this is Leliana. Leliana with her faith in something so much better than the bloodied bitter mess that the world is at is stands, toes so perilously close to the abyss it chooses not to see. It was the Divine's action, Leliana one of her two hands that needed to be there but in these rare moments she can breathe easily away from a hundred people, a thousand people (more? It most certainly must be more, the Inquisition's reach is long, the Herald-now-Inquisitor decides the fates of nations in the howling silence left without a Divine as Orlais sorts itself and Ferelden licks wounds, as all the rest watch and wait and _wait_ ) to demand her constant attention, her supervision.  
  
Next to her comes a mumble and she shuts her eyes, wills her breathing to slow. Morrigan has pretended well enough that Darkspawn and wild creatures have ignored her, she can do well enough in bed with a bard. The late hour with the sun spilling in, the two of them pressed so close, that is why her skin prickles so, why a flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks. They'll have to get up eventually. She should do it now. Spare herself the teasing or seize the opportunity to strike first but she cannot be certain of actually getting out from under Leliana's arm, of sliding her legs free from where they're entwined, so easily without disturbing her. Leliana murmurs again, stretches and rolls slightly onto her back with a yawn, taking her warmth with her.  
  
Morrigan seizes the chance then finds herself stifling a curse as pins and needles race up her legs as soon as she swings herself out of bed to stand.  
  
"Morrigan?" Leliana's voice is not quite so sweet in the mornings, rough after a long night. "Maker, how late—"  
  
"We are not so young as we once were, t'would seem."  
  
"And yet," the blankets rustle but Morrigan refuses to turn now she has seated herself at the vanity to begin brushing out her hair, attempting to coax it into something that isn't a nest of snarls and tangles, "you seem no better than myself."  
  
"Tis why I said 'we'." Leliana laughs at that remark, slipping from the bed to pull a robe about herself before peering outside. "Breaking camp at first light. What passed for first light as the days wore on."  
  
"How large yet small our troubles were in those days. Assemble an army; here are our treaties, let us solve this dispute or that, venture into forests or the Deep Roads, through mountain caverns, yet how we would complain about it all. I realise now the luxuries we enjoyed at the time."  
  
"Sharing a camp with Alistair _and_ Oghren?" Morrigan asks, turning with one eyebrow raised.  
  
Leliana snorts softly, coming up behind her to slide the pins into place in Morrigan's hair with a delicate touch. "Relative luxury. The journey from Haven to Skyhold and I was shown just how few knew how to live such a life even when necessity forced our hand; they complained about Haven as it was then? Do you remember when you and I knew it?" Her hands linger in Morrigan's hair longer than is strictly necessary, and Morrigan finds she can't quite meet her gaze in the mirror, that it causes her stomach to twist.  
  
She has almost seen this through, it is almost at an end, she will ignore this and not allow it to get in the way same as she is sure that if Leliana notices anything that is not a fabrication for the sake of things, she will do very much the same.  
  
"I remember the blood. The singing. The dragons. The spurious claims made about ashes retrieved for a man fond of his own voice we might well have done without; tis Teagan seen at court these days, not Eamon." Not that anyone would miss him, least of all the queen of Ferelden she thinks.  
  
"Which almost brings us to today," Leliana makes a small gesture so Morrigan rises to dress and allow her to fix her hair herself seeing as it's too short to need much work beyond the braid she keeps but that sort of thing after all these years is a story that is not Morrigan's to ask, not now, so she does not, will not. Instead she makes a humming noise so Leliana knows she's still listening. "Lord Florinus and the documents we require…You will have time to have tea with all of us today, won't you?"  
  
Morrigan's lip curls unbidden even hearing the man's name. "Of course, am I to know the plan ahead of time or does it work best not to know?"  
  
"We are the distraction once again. Either he keeps the documents upon his person at _all_ times or he does not. This will give us the chance to find out."  
  
"Very well."  
  
Morrigan does not like the look of Leliana's innocent smile when it's directed at her.  
  


* * *

  
  
Morrigan, it turns out, was very right not to like the look of that smile.  
  
Faces blur when she passes them in the hall on the way back to the room she shares with Leliana, head held high because she knows no other way but she is sure her cheeks must still be burning. Grinding her teeth, she nearly collides with someone too slow to get out of her way (Inquisition, fortunately, if she suffered through _that_ then blew the ruse with this she might set the estate ablaze) before there's a sturdy door between her and the world. Leaning back against it, she takes a shuddering breath through her nose with her palms flat behind her. Has she _ever_ been quite so humiliated and unable to do a thing about it?  
  
No. No she very much doubts it and Leliana knew it, relied upon it, and did it anyway.  
  
Pushing away from the door - locking it would be petty, and she does consider it but it would merely delay the inevitable – she takes a seat on the bed and catches a glimpse of her face in the mirror. Flushed. All the way down her throat and even partway down her chest, and with her pale skin and dark gown it looks all the brighter for it. Leliana will be joining her soon, she'd said as much when Morrigan had made her excuse (that had been part of the plan, at least, at a very careful signal) to leave but it gives her time alone to compose herself and replay it in her head.  
  
She had been in the grounds, taking the air as it were and simply grateful to be out of the house for a short time on a relatively warm day for this time of year. Artificial outdoors. Carefully constructed and even more carefully maintained but too long indoors even ten years removed from the Korcari Wilds and she found herself chafing whenever she felt cooped up. Any other time and she have might slunk away as another creature, might even take flight but there's too great a risk here so she cannot indulge. She had avoided the maze, prowled the outskirts to be found more easily and had paced the entire estate at her leisure to take note of just how few carriages yet remained, how many had vanished either last night or in the morning while she and Leliana slept. Useful information to relay by someone who had a far better excuse for wandering wherever she might. When the scout in disguise had come to collect her she had gone, as planned, and had found Leliana in a small drawing room with Florinus and Cerise, all of them sitting down for tea.  
  
That too had been just as planned.  
  
What followed—well it appears so far to have gone to plan but it hadn't been what she had expected. She had expected to suffer through tedious conversation. To play a part in the game with Leliana while buying time for the agents to rifle through the belongings of Florinus to search for the documents. If the search had been successful then Morrigan would leave and Leliana would follow after, if unsuccessful they would both leave together. The scout had relayed the signals, outlined what might work as a lie but it would sound far more natural to go along with the conversation. The lad had been in on it as well, would almost certainly have had to have been.  
  
Leliana had smiled so brightly upon seeing her. "And here she is, I am so glad you could join us."  
  
"But of course, how could I stand to be parted from you?"  
  
Whatever Cerise had said, what face Florinus had made behind his mask she had missed for instead of being allowed to take her own seat she had been pulled swiftly and neatly to perch on Leliana's lap, urged to lean against her; 'act natural' had been whispered as their hosts recovered themselves and she had wanted to-  
  
Even now she's unsure what she had wanted to do exactly. After last night, after this morning, after too many days living on top of one another and too many nights in the same bend trading whispers and she knows Leliana so well that she can feel her now. The hand settled around her waist to anchor her, the other passing her a cup of tea she'd been expected to drink calmly as they talked, as they waited, as she willed her skin not to combust or to crane her neck around to stare at Leliana and hiss at her. Somehow that hadn't been the worst part. Oh no. Not the looks from behind masks that hadn't been so furtive as their hosts had thought (somewhat removed from the Game a few things had slipped and sat at the very heart of it in Orlais in Celene's company, Morrigan had noticed that well enough) or simply being made to sit there and endure, no, it had been how much she had enjoyed it. How simple it had been to allow the tension to melt out of her spine each and every time Leliana's hand travelled up and down her side so casually that she'd broken out into goose bumps, having to fight the urge to shiver. As she does now at the memory of it, furiously rubbing her bare shoulders now that she can.  
  
The illusion had been complete and it coils in her belly, ready to strike, no small measurement of embarrassment and wounded pride, a small portion of hurt she cannot explain, but larger than all the rest is the wanting. A want that had her lying in bed when she should have risen. The kiss that might have been last night.  
  
Temptation lies in the forbidden, Flemeth had once told her that, is that all that this is?  
  
"There you are!" Leliana's arrival cuts Morrigan's thought short, though it's how she sounds entirely too pleased with herself that rankles more in the moment, the sound of the key in the lock quiet as she crosses the room to sit at the vanity to face Morrigan. "I hoped I'd find you here, I have good news."  
  
Either Leliana is too caught up in her news to mention that Morrigan is still pink or she'd rather not acknowledge it. Right now Morrigan would prefer to ignore it too. "You have them?" Morrigan asks, daring to hope that this is almost at an end even as her stomach lurches at the thought of it, no matter how absurd it might be.  
  
"They were successful in retrieving them; in the exact same coat as last night. Exactly what we had hoped to find. We have him." The satisfied smile looks good on Leliana, something closer to a smirk when she's outplayed someone, an edge of a dangerous thing that lurks beneath waiting to strike. Despite her earlier mood, Morrigan finds herself unable to resist returning the smile as she rises, setting a hand on Leliana's shoulder.  
  
"Allow me to congratulate you then."  
  
"I did not do this alone-"  
  
"Enjoy your victory for one moment, I believe you seldom do." Arching a brow to invite Leliana to disagree, she ends up waiting her out until she slouches then winces, rubbing her neck. "Problem?"  
  
"It's nothing, a little stiff from sleeping so late, it will pass."  
  
Morrigan hides her smile, shaking her head as she indicates for Leliana to turn around. "We cannot have that – are you not to prepare for all eventualities spymaster? What if the Lord Florinus were to learn of what we have obtained and our exit were to become more…complicated than we might prefer? Do you plan to fight with a twinge in the neck or shoulders?"  
  
"No." Sullen, sullen enough that it throws Morrigan back some ten years to how _she_ sounded.  
  
"Disrobe, I am at your disposal."  
  
Were she in the mood to be petty or cruel she wouldn't bother warming the oil between her palms first but if there is some small chance for revenge to be had, then she has a better way to seize it, a mixture she made herself years ago when she was pregnant and aching all over, infused with elfroot that to this day she still carries with her wherever she goes for whatever pains she might have after a long day. Leliana doesn't jump at the first touch, setting her jaw instead as Morrigan begins to work at the problem. Or the first of many that she finds since beneath her fingertips Leliana's neck and shoulders are too stiff and it's not long before she has to work at them to get anywhere, soft noises escaping Leliana as she bows her head. Morrigan expects them to be of pain after all with the tension carried there, the burdens she must bear, poring over reports in the rookery at all hours and at the war table but a quick glance in the mirror and Leliana's mouth has fallen open ever so slightly and when Morrigan works at a particular knot until she's satisfied it's gone, a long moan escapes her.  
  
It's the most indecent sound she's ever heard out of Leliana, Leliana who seems unaware that she's made it, practically boneless in Morrigan's hands as she continues her work, biting her lip as she keeps moaning until her head lolls back and she sighs, rolling her shoulders. Slowly she becomes aware of herself, hair sticking to her flushed cheeks as she clears her throat.  
  
"You-"  
  
There's a knock at the door, and Morrigan being the decent one of the two wipes off her hands moves to answer it, leaning out only as far as she must to preserve Leliana's modesty from potentially prying eyes. She returns shortly to a dressed and more comfortable Leliana, ready for whatever the rest of the day might hold.  
  
"Who was it?"  
  
"One of the estate staff, they were very understanding but asked if we might possibly be able to keep the noise down if we could. The Lord Florinus is working after all."  
  
Morrigan swears she can hear Leliana's jaw snap shut before a pillow is hurled her way over her laughter.  
  


* * *

  
  
Of course while the contents of the documents are verified in their entirety, Morrigan continues to work in the library until late in the evenings and finds that she can enjoy it more without the looming threat of failure hanging over her head. It provides her with a distraction from the thought of returning to Skyhold and everything taking place here coming to an end, things she hasn't wished to examine in the light of day that always push their way to the surface. Leliana alone in her tower more often than not unless the war table beckoned, Leliana with her hood drawn low over her face to cast her in shadow, tasteful chainmail and gloves between her and the world. Hiding herself away again as she had done before she'd appeared in the tavern in Lothering to join with them, a vision on her lips only this time she is far more successful at it. This time Morrigan cares. Leliana is one of the few people she can say that she _knows_. That she has come to care for and think of fondly over the years. Even then Leliana had eyes for her when she had no need to try to disarm her; a lay sister of the Chantry speaking of the gown she wished to dress the cold, cruel apostate in so boldly, how it would move with her, how it would flatter her? Morrigan has not been alone these past ten years, but her bed has been. If she has come to think of Leliana fondly but her mother's voice creeps back into her ear with those five words that had come to mind so easily before: temptation lies in the forbidden. Words she had sworn to live by when she had disappeared once and then again, when she had slipped back between worlds to raise her child and there is no good that will come of any of this should she breathe a word. Perhaps there is a fear that whatever friendship they've built since she joined the Inquisition after the ball at the Winter Palace will be somehow irretrievable in the face of the truth. That she will spoil it.  
  
Saying nothing might well do the same, she reflects bitterly as she extinguishes the candles once she is done for the night, a small flame curling in her palm to light her way back to their rooms when she hears a soft rushing noise at the edge of her hearing from up ahead. She knows the sound but in the moment she can't place it but it has her hurrying carefully, wishing she had her staff as she comes to where she has to turn the corner at the hall to return to their rooms when she smells it. Acrid and bitter but unmistakeably the lingering odour of a miasmic flask that's been thrown, and that means only one thing: harlequins. Something about them has always unsettled her, the garish garb or the face painted to exactly match the mask they may or may not wear but them being here can't mean anything good as she coils lightning in her palms, ready to strike.  
  
Leliana was working in their room. Alone. Morrigan has proof of her skill but taken unawares by an unknown number of harlequins? Well it gets her moving faster, not allowing herself more than a moment to wonder at the rest of those with them, how they were discovered, what this means for them all. White vapour clouds the air about Leliana who reels, shaking her head to clear it when Morrigan races inside pausing only to hurl lightning at the first one and the crack of it hitting them snaps Leliana from the stupor induced by the flask, grabbing for a knife and parrying a strike just in time as she backs up to put some space between her and their attackers.  
  
Three of them. Three against two and Morrigan cannot get to her staff across the room but as the one she hit first with a spell gets to her feet haltingly, attempting to shake off the effects of being struck by lightning without warning, she summons her mana again and this time uses her magic to disorient them as Leliana moves in and out with her blade, a flash of silverite and red hair at the edge. Ten years and she moves as fast as she did when taking down darkspawn or werewolves or demons or whatever they encountered along the way, if anything with more skill than she did before. Years with the Divine, no doubt but there's no time to think on that now. Morrigan checks where each one is, hurls ice at the first one she hit and makes a break for her staff as Leliana engages one and manages a savage strike at a weak point in their armour. Just in time, as it so happens, to bring the staff to bear against the second when they attempt to stab her and she grits her teeth and blocks. The ringing clash of blade against blade is loud in her ears as she deals with this one, hurling spells when she can since the first one is encased in ice and won't ever be getting up again now but she can't keep this up forever until she blasts them back. If they hurl another flask and send her reeling the it'll be a knife to her kidneys or throat, she has no illusions as to that. A walking bomb would suffice but inviting something with the precision of a harlequin isn't high on her list of priorities compared to a darkspawn or common soldier so she favours lightning to set their limbs jangling but this one staggers forward, their blade striking across her upper arm.  
  
As she cracks them hard across the face with the end of her staff to knock them unconscious she spares a moment to hope the blade isn't poisoned.  
  
"Morrigan?" Leliana's breathing is heavy as the last harlequin goes down with a muted gurgle from a slit throat, collapsing in a heap on the floor as she waves Leliana's question away.  
  
"This one still breathes," she says instead, opening a pouch at the front of her robes to grab for a vial of salve to smear over the wound to seal it and start the healing process. A clean edge speaks to the sharpness of the blade, and it will heal without leaving a mark though she's had plenty over the years from all that she has encountered in the Wilds, with the Hero and beyond. She offers the vial to Leliana though she doesn't see any wounds but Leliana shakes her head so she pockets it again.  
  
"I will bind them; we may have a need of them after. I know why they came but I would have another witness. We must go after them, my agents—"  
  
"Worrying about them does not help ourselves or them at this moment." Morrigan puts what she thinks is enough sharpness in her voice to keep her moving, a hand settling on her shoulder. "Florinus is our focus and where he might be; not the study as that was where I had come from, unless he wished to deal with you here then come for me."  
  
"You are right." Leliana shreds the sheets from their bed viciously, binds the harlequin tighter than necessary then gags her for good measure. "Any we find on the way we can send on other routes if they haven't taken them already. He may have more in his employ and we cannot entirely rule out Cerise."  
  
"She has enough talent at playing the Game even if she is something of an outsider at it these days; none marry into Tevinter and remain fools unless they play at it."  
  
"Precisely. I still have the documents, believe me when I say that they are damning in their entirety. Florinus must have discovered that they had gone missing far sooner than I would have liked, there's little other reason to arrange this."  
  
"Or we could ponder at his motivation after. When we have him. And Cerise. Preferably bound as this one is."  
  
Leliana gives her a look that might be a glare if her heart were more in it. "You are right, let us move. Do you have anything that might help with the lock?"  
  
A vial of caustic fluid later – useful for many a thing in travels to the places Morrigan has been to in her time – and they are on their way through an estate that is far too quiet for their liking, each and every step bringing them closer to someone that might have a knife. Too much of it reminds Morrigan of creeping through the Arl of Denerim's estate to aid in rescuing Anora but it's not quite right, not really. Leliana will have far more to drawn on so she follows her lead, stops at each corner as they head deeper and deeper in, stopping when they hear the sound of combat not too far from them. Nodding to each other, they move from cover to peer into the quarters for visiting servants to find something of a small bloodbath; one Inquisition agent dead, another two wounded but their foes dead or similarly bound as they try to catch their breath and patch themselves up.  
  
"Nightingale!" Eloise exclaims, smiling in relief from where she's patting down the body of one of the attackers sent after them for clues, blood splattered across her face. "They came in through the back entrance via the kitchens, dressed same as the servants."  
  
"Our plan was to come get to you." Morrigan turns to see Lorcan leaning against the wall with a hand clapped to his side as one of the others tends to a wound in his side, blood darkening his tunic though not enough that she'd be worried about to his life if he keeps still and doesn't have to fight again soon.  
  
"They had harlequins come for me, the likelihood is that they were unable to procure bards at such short notice or do to their status," Leliana replies, kneeling by the body of the fallen agent with such a soft murmur of apology that Morrigan almost doesn't catch it. "Some of you must stay with the prisoners and the wounded, if you must, barricade the door but secure the exit via the kitchen to get out should anything go amiss. The rest? Morrigan and I will have need of you in our hunt for Florinus and Cerise."  
  
"Understood. Some are patrolling the grounds now, do you want anyone to look for them?"  
  
"No. They were inside first, they would have waited, planned to have time to deal with all this. They thought we wold not be able to take them on so that leaves us with the advantage. We cannot know how many they have though or what Florinus and Cerise have at their own disposal. Secure the area around their chambers to keep anyone from following us." With the plan decided, the agents rally save those who don't appear to be coming with them and Morrigan watches; she so rarely sees this Leliana giving the orders that rally her people to fight. Give the order to move in and plant information or steal it, to move without being seen or heard unless it suits them better, to be her eyes and ears in the world.  
  
It makes her smile as she hands one of the vials of salve to Lorcan. "It will seal the wound, though I would suggest you _not_ move if you can help it."  
  
"My thanks lady Morrigan. Good hunting to you both." He grins at her and she quite likes this one, she does hope he makes it through all of this though she's sure he will.  
  
"If we are all ready, we move. You are to follow Eloise's lead in this. Eloise, I trust your judgement. Florinus and Cerise await." Leliana's voice is low and deadly, a viper coiled to strike, a fire in her eyes; has Morrigan ever found her more attractive than in this moment when it couldn't be more inconvenient since, much like when they had to hide during the dance, there isn't a damned thing she can do about it?  
  


* * *

  
  
Eloise leaves them at the doors to the private chambers Florinus and Cerise keep, the rest having split off at each corridor preceding to deal with the guards that might come to intercept them though what they are or aren't aware of, Morrigan can't tell. Some of what goes on here a select few must know of but for it to be common knowledge would be a liability. Something they might speak of. Tongues loosen when there's enough wine, when there's the clink of coin, even for the right face. Faster if there were a bard with all the tricks a bard would know or a soldier with a soldier's hands made for beating out a confession. No. They have been told something convenient, only the most trusted, those loyal old retainers, only they will know.  
  
Time in Orlais has taught her many things about how the people survive at the top that have allowed her to pick her way through that mess, stepping in and out of the Game, bending and breaking the rules as she sees fit. How different she and Leliana are now yet in a way, how much better the match.  
  
Listening by the door, Leliana nods and Morrigan readies a hex to blast at whoever happens to be on the other side of it the instant she's picked the lock. The light of fire casts long shadows on the wall, nothing to see within at first. Leliana has her bow aimed and ready too, both of them entering quietly as they can to find Florinus sat at his desk, mask off.  
  
"Nightingale. Lady Morrigan. Allow me to-"  
  
"Save your breath," Leliana interrupts, an arrow pointed at him as he rises. "We know what you've done and it is at an end. The assassins you sent after us are dead, same as those you sent after our agents. You can come quietly or not, the choice is yours."  
  
"I regret that it has come to this but you should both have left well enough alone. The situation in Orlais was enough but the two of you…in _my_ house. Trying to take down all that I have worked so hard for when Corypheus will restore Tevinter to our rightful place in this world again!" Without his mask Morrigan can see the madness in his eyes as she feels the spell building but before she can fire it, an arrow whistles through the air and punches the breath from him, sending him staggering back into his chair, staring down at the shaft sticking out of his chest as if he had no idea how it could have gotten there.  
  
"You were warned," Leliana says.  
  
A shriek comes from somewhere to their left, feral and vicious. Florinus cries out 'Cerise, _no_ ' weakly as she lunges for Leliana but Morrigan moves, and cries out as both blades rake over her ribs, one sinking deep and sending her to her knees as she blasts a spell wildly, no focus in, pure instinct. Burning flesh hits her nose as Cerise howls, Leliana firing again and a heavy weight begins to crush the air from Morrigan as one of the blades remains lodged in her, Cerise's twisted face laughing manically through her agony.  
  
"You—you will not—"  
  
" _Enough_ ," Morrigan growls, shoving her off and hitting her with another blast of lightning. When her limbs stop twitching she is dead, a blade in her courtesy of Leliana as the world greys at the edges. Florinus lives yet, Morrigan can hear him weeping from his chair, Eloise bursting in before racing for someone to heal Morrigan's wounds first.  
  
"Morrigan, why, how _could_ you," Leliana hisses, forehead pressed to Morrigan's with a hand pressed to her side to hold the blade steady before it can be removed, the other cupping Morrigan's cheek.  
  
"Tis- tis nothing. I have suffered much and more, you know this," Morrigan tells her then rather ruins it by giving a rattling cough that ends in a wince she can't hide.  
  
"Don't you dare do this to me, I cannot lose you. I cannot."  
  
There is Leliana's mouth on hers and how unfair it is that it feels like a dream later, when Morrigan is resting in another room, when they are returning to Skyhold, that there is blood in her mouth and Leliana's tears but she holds tight to her until she must draw breath. Leliana does not let go of her hand until she must.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VabvI4BiT0) cover of Wicked Game way too often whilst writing this.


End file.
